Live Freely or Die and the End of the Anchor Chain by Ilmar Laaban
Listen to the fountain of righteous blood speaking in the baleful herb garden, know the worth of avengement and stars, live freely or die. Remember, the decayed eyes of traitors shall become the flesh of hopeful fish, howl of ferns and iron – live freely or die.
My Body Is the Dream of My Ancestors and other poems by Hasso Krull
Bone and skin, hair and fat: they saw it long ago, but so little time has passed that no one believes it. My ass isn’t bulbous and springy just because: someone sat upon it for thousands of years, then lent me the cheeks – don’t just wear them down; when you sit, then sit with…
Sterne by Margit Lõhmus
I’d been living a poor, lonely life in Berlin for almost a year. I only hung out with chumps, people who had zero interest in me, who were only interested in themselves, heh, no, they weren’t interested in themselves, either. I’d gotten in the habit of making out everywhere: cafés, the metro, parties, the sidewalk.…
The Night of Souls by Karl Ristikivi
This time I went nowhere. I remained in the street. I had read so much about the primeval-forest solitude of a metropolis’s streets that I allowed myself to be led astray. I soon realized that I should not have done it. People differ, and so do cities ...
The Autumn Ball by Mati Unt
It became a common joke among the bourgeoisie: I don’t know if it’s a woman or a man? They were always very interested in that. But it wasn’t only the bourgeoisie. Theatre scholar Jan Kott saw a couple kissing in Copenhagen one night, and he couldn’t tell which one was which. But he based one…
Glass Noodles by Maarja Kangro
She recalled a crappy bang during a lovely Danish residency. It’d been with a tattooed Danish sci-fi writer three years her junior. He’d been high and dry for a year; S., on the other hand, had recently gone through a flurry of bland partners in an attempt to overcome a broken heart.
